


The Lion, The Prince, and The Hawke

by MostHopelessofRomantics



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostHopelessofRomantics/pseuds/MostHopelessofRomantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To the victor(s) go the spoils.  Hawke sits on her lofty throne, a woman in charge of all she surveys.  She has grown bored with the annual competitions to win a night in her bed, but perhaps this year things will go differently.  When the Prince fights the Lion, anything could happen, and she finds herself torn between which man she should cheer for.  An AU story for the Thedas Most Bangable Collection."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea started as Sebastian/Hawke, but the wonderful [zombolouge](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zombolouge) said that we couldn't neglect dear Cullen...
> 
> A Note From zombolouge: "This is the smuttiest thing I have written to date, so hopefully you guys enjoy it. *panics and runs away*"

She sat atop her dais and watched indifferently as her people gathered around the caged pit below her.  The lanterns burned brightly, casting an amber glow over the dirt and dust covered crowd.  The air was heavy with the stench of oil and sweat, and carried on it the barks of the bet-takers, calling to the people for their money.  The sun had hid its eyes from the fervent excitement hours ago, sinking below the horizon as though the passion in the air burned so brightly as to have driven it away.  And yet, despite the cool blue of the sky, the heat yet lingered in the sandstone of the stadium, leaving her and her charges glistening with sweat as much as enthusiasm.

It was the eve of her thirtieth name-day, and as was customary, a competition was being held to decide her mate.  When Hawke had been younger she had found these affairs exciting, the rousing battles stirring her blood and her desires as she watched Kirkwall’s very best tear each other down for a chance to bring her pleasure.  Over the years since her first, however, she had taken many different lovers, not all of them from the competitions, and the luster of the event had waned.  She had men and women waiting for her back at the keep, should the winner here prove…inefficient, a precaution she had taken after one too many years of being left wanting.  She didn’t have very high hopes for the evening, and in all likelihood Isabela would find Hawke gracing her bed before the sun had returned. 

As was expected, she had been unimpressed with the contenders so far.  None had been able to win more than one fight successively, and even though it was still very early in the night, she was beginning to tire of the event altogether.  She leaned back in her throne of silk and steel and drank from her pewter goblet, uninterested in the bouts below…until _he_ was announced.

“Our Lady Hawke,” the announcer began, “introducing to the ring, as contender for your pleasure, The Prince of Starkhaven!”

She rose to her feet and the crowd erupted in a roar of applause and cheers, her interest feeding into theirs until it was a loop of fervor that reminded her of days when the world still held so much more mystery.  She had heard of this man but had yet to lay eyes upon him.  Rumor decorated him with a great many attributes that she found intriguing, and while she knew rumor often lived too closely to a lie, if there were any truth to the claims of his beauty then this night may not be as lost as she had feared.  She drew in a breath as the crowd seethed all around her, and her eyes feasted upon him as he entered the pit from the shadows.

He was tall and muscular, and his tanned flesh was taut and already glistening with sweat, a man carved from lust turned to solid bronze.  His long, mahogany waves were tied in a loop at the back of his head, trailing down the very center of his spine across his rippling back.  He had a smudge of black oil on his face, and his brilliant, cerulean eyes made her shiver with desire as they bored into her.  He wore only tight black leather trousers and thick-soled boots, and his hands and wrists were wrapped in linen and leather strips.

He stepped forward with a smirk and faced the dais, and she felt a rush of heat shoot straight through to her stomach at the thought of what else those lips might be capable of.  He bowed deeply to her and covered his heart with his hand.

“Lady Hawke, I fight for you!” he yelled the oft spoken promise over the keening crowd, his Starkhaven accent igniting her blood. 

She nodded in acknowledgement and the mob cheered louder.  She sat back onto her throne and awaited his opponent.  The bet-takers were filling their palms quickly, as The Prince of Starkhaven was known to be an indomitable and ruthless fighter.  She didn’t hear the next name the announcer called, and when she flicked her eyes in his direction she realized she didn’t care.  He was an obstacle, a gnat, a superfluous player in tonight’s great game, and she was tempted to crawl into the ring and dispatch the hapless man herself so that she could claim the prize that she wished. 

She smiled to herself as she took her cup back in her hand, bringing it to her lips and savoring the bracing flavor of the dark red wine.  Things would be so much more interesting for her should he actually prove he was worthy of her time, and so she would be content to wait.  There was a certain pleasure in the anticipation, and she became aware of the steady thrum reverberating through her body, matching the hum of the crowd as it echoed all around them.  She could feel the cords that served as her outfit stretching tighter against her breasts as her chest heaved, the tightly wound silk pressed between her thighs growing warmer from more than the heat of the night.  Every sensation was heightened, and she reveled in it, enjoying this sudden reawakening within her.

The fight was hardly worth noting.  The Prince soundly defeated the man without breaking more than the thinnest layer of sweat, and the smug smile on his lips before he was cleared from the ring should have irritated her, but instead it made her hungry, starving to use her teeth to wipe it off of his face.  She sent out a silent prayer to whatever gods would listen that her prey might continue to be so successful in the competition.  Judging by the way he confidently sauntered through the dusty grounds she would be willing to bet that he would. 

The announcer’s voice took to the air again as the next match was about to start.

“Our Lady Hawke, introducing to the ring, as contender for your pleasure, The Lion of Skyhold!”

The spectators jumped to their feet, as did Hawke.  The noise of the crowd was deafening, but it was drowned out by the pounding of her own heart.  This was yet another unexpected turn to the night’s festivities.  Money began flying around the ring, the bet-takers unable to place the wagers as quickly as they came in.  The Lion of Skyhold was a military legend, his prowess talked about amongst the people as though he were a god made mortal, meant to be revered by those of a lesser stock. 

He emerged from the darkness and claimed his position in the ring.  If the Prince had been bronze, then this man was crafted from gold, his paler skin shining as the light from the torches seemed to caress his physique, as though the very flames wished to reach out and touch him.  He was tall and muscular, much like the Prince, but broader and more focused.  His expression held more determination than arrogance, his brows close together as he surveyed all present, his concentration not on the fervor of the crowd but the tactics that would ensure his victory.  He wore only suede trousers and heavy boots, and his wrists and forearms were bound in longs strips of leather dyed a sumptuous red.  His unruly, golden curls framed his face, damp from the moisture thickening the air.  He looked up at her, and his expression seemed to soften, the determination settling within him as he eyed the woman he hoped to make his prize.  The smile he gave her was assured but not arrogant, confident without being mocking, and she toyed with one of the long silk sashes hanging from her waist under his quiet regard. 

He saluted her and bowed deeply.  “Lady Hawke, I fight for you!” he boomed over the cheers, his voice commanding the attention of all, driving them to further excited madness.

She nodded her acknowledgement before she sat, her heart fluttering in her chest.   Again the contender did not matter, as she could see the poor fellow had not a chance by just comparing the size of his biceps to the Lion’s.  This, however, was something new.  This turn of events was something exciting, something that made her loins ache with the ideas it put into her head.  She had not had someone worth getting excited over in years, and now two worthy suitors had stumbled onto her path.  Which one would prevail?  Which one did she _want_ to prevail?  Surely both men could provide what she wished for the evening, likely even surpass her expectations.  Yet how did a woman choose between a bronze Prince and a golden Lion?  Technically the fights should prove the victor, but she could not help agonizing over her wishes, her desire tearing through her like a starving beast, devouring all of her thoughts until she was left with nothing but scattered images of rough hands over soft skin, or teeth dragged over nerves set aflame, of satisfaction and gratification she had not felt in some time. 

The match was over before she knew that it had started, and the Lion left the field with not a scratch on him, the picture of perfection as his opponent lay drooling in the dust.  She brooded over her wine as the competition continued, her interest being drawn occasionally as her two favorites entered the field to dispatch their next foes, but otherwise ignoring the proceedings.  Both worked quickly, and brutally, and it became obvious to all as things dragged on that the Lion and the Prince would face each other in the final match. 

When it came and they finally entered the ring to face one another she stood, the air around her electric and sparking against her nerves, her heart beating so fast she could scarcely feel it.  She paced along the railing of her balcony like a caged animal, barely resisting the urge to growl low in her throat at the display of sheer testosterone laid at her feet.  This was it, this was the moment that would decide the rest of the night, and she still had not a clue which way she wanted the winds of fate to blow.  Amber and ocean eyes looked up at her, naked want plain in the depths of both, and she placed her palms against the summer warmed metal of the railing, her hands gripping the edge tightly enough that her knuckles grew white at the tips.  She bit the inside of her cheek as the announcer boomed out their names once more, a shudder of excitement rippling through the crowd. 

The battle horn was blown, and the fight began.

The two men quickly began circling one another in the ring, their glares never faltering.  Like predators, each stalked the other, waiting for some sign of weakness, some opening to pounce.  She could see the mutual respect they held between them, both of them finally seeing a worthy opponent, probably the first one of the night for each.  Swarthy arrogance and calculating confidence met in the tawny dust below, and she could feel their battle lust from the tilting of their smiles, mingling with the anticipation of what victory would mean, creating an intoxicating swirl of sex and violence that practically permeated the air. 

The Prince attacked first, and he drove a hard fist into The Lion’s jaw, his speed catching The Lion off guard and drawing first blood.  The Lion spat the copper tasting liquid from his mouth and smiled, a look of triumph at finally being struck.  He lunged forward, a golden blur of might and power, and the Prince dodged the first jab but couldn’t evade the hook.  He took The Lion’s prevailing clout in the temple and swayed on his feet for one terrifying moment, a dazed expression on his sun kissed features.  He shook the confusion away and laughed.

“Is that all you have, kitty?” he sneered.  

The Lion smirked and shook his head, “I’m just being gentle with you, princess.”

The Prince grinned and the two continued their domineering cadence around the ring, every footstep like a beat of a war drum, every swing of their arms a bolt of lightning searing the air.  The noise of the crowd grew louder as the fight grew more ruthless.  After beating on each other mercilessly for what could have been minutes or hours as far as she could tell, the men were now bloodied and breathless, bruises already marring their flesh. 

The Lion took a mighty leap toward his opponent with his fist cocked back and his leading arm out.  The Prince grabbed his limb and twisted him in mid-air, throwing The Lion to the ground and stirring up a cloud of dust that clung to their sweat soaked skin.  The faster Prince climbed atop the winded Lion and viciously began pummelling his face with his already swollen knuckles.  After regaining his bearings, the grounded fighter countered with a flip of his own, throwing The Prince to the dirt floor, bearing over him, and then it was his turn to throw punch after ferocious punch. 

Hawke was fixated on the two pristine specimens of manhood fighting below her.  She gripped the railing of the dais tightly as her chest heaved for breath, the cords of her top digging into her skin, everything too tight and too hot as she yearned to be past these agonizing moments of indecision.  She noticed that they were tiring, and neither one had a clear advantage over the other, and for a moment she feared they might kill each other and neither would give her the night she so desperately needed.

She called her advisor over as The Prince freed himself from The Lion’s hold, the pair claiming dominance from one another as they wrestled in the dirt that was coated in the blood of the men they had already defeated.  The diminutive servant nodded at her request, and ran to the side of the ring.

The battle horn sounded again, signalling the end of the fight. Bewildered, they stopped in mid-swing and cast their eyes upon the ruler of Kirkwall.  The crowd fell quiet and all attention was focused on her, and she stood tall as she surveyed them, her shoulders thrown back in triumph for her plan.  Her eyes roved hungrily over them both, and a smirk appeared on her lips before she spun around and retreated in a flurry of red silk, leaving them to wonder at her intentions.  The announcer raised the arms of both men in victory, and the crowd erupted in thunderous noise.

She had agonized all night over the proceedings, unsure of her choice, unsure of which man she wanted to take to her bed, but in the heat of the moment the truth had finally come to her.  She laughed as she retreated to her quarters, enjoying the way it rumbled through her chest and danced through her throat.

_Choose indeed_ , she thought.  _Why should a woman have to choose at all?_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the good times roll....

They were immediately tended to by the healers before being led to her chambers and ushered inside, where she was waiting for them.  The red screens that were wrapped around the torches cast a carnal glow around the space, melding with the cool turquoise and white of the bedsheets.  She stood in the center of the room, beneath the many tiered crystals of the chandelier, small rainbows of light dancing across her skin.  The red silk of her skirts hung gracefully around her hips as it cascaded to the floor, and the black leather cords of her top, crisscrossed in an x shape over her chest, were scented heavily with the salty tang of her tingling skin.  Around her long and slender neck was a black leather choker, embellished with black lace and stretching from her collarbone to the top of her throat.  They eyed her with reverence, with hunger, with desire, and she absorbed it all, reveling in the way their eyes dragged across her body, all but begging to be able to touch, but never daring without her word.  She felt powerful, she felt mighty, but most of all she felt victorious, and despite the late hour and the threat of dawn soon approaching, Hawke knew the night had just barely begun.   

Her jewelled fingers held goblets in each hand.  Both men, still sweaty and dirt-caked, stepped toward her, and she offered them the wine.  They bowed humbly as they accepted the drinks, and her smirk grew as she considered them.

“That was a rousing display the two of you put on,” she purred, “I’ve declared your match a tie.”

The men looked at one another with animosity, feral and vicious, as though they blamed each other for the shared honor.  Her smile only broadened at the display.

“It would be a shame to have only one when I can take both of you to my bed.”

Neither of her prizes looked happy at the prospect, and in fact looked like they were at a loss over what to do.  The Lion’s jaw was set and he grit his teeth, the muscles of his neck standing out as he tried to mask his displeasure.  The Prince scowled openly, looking for all the world like a child who had been denied his favorite toy.  She frowned at them, irritated that they would defy her even silently, and she snapped her fingers in their direction.

“Wash, quickly.”

She was mollified somewhat when they obeyed, approaching the water basins to clean the grit from their skin.  She tugged at her lip as she circled each of them with a predatory gleam in her eye.  For all that they had been in the ring, the roles were now reversed, and they had become _her_ hunted prey, hers to do with as she pleased.  Hawke stood before them and reached both hands out to drag her palms over their backs, feeling the muscles of each flex in tandem.  She pulled her hands away and licked each of them in turn, tasting of the still dusty musk that coated their skin.  Her eyes burned as she watched rivulets of water stream down their chests, only to be caught up in the gentle rags as they wiped away the remnants of battle.  They worked quietly, eyeing each other as often as her, both of them unsure of how to proceed.  Their hesitation was cute, for now.  She would guide them in this, show them the beauty of love shared rather than squandered. 

She sauntered around to face them, plucking the rag from the Lion’s fingers.  He watched, entranced, as she dipped the rag in the water, wringing it out before applying it at the base of his neck.  She rubbed it against the skin, moving in slowly turning arcs that trailed down across his chest, working her way across his perfectly planed stomach, and hovering teasingly above the waistband of his pants.  He sucked in a breath through his teeth, his eyes locked on her, and she saw the gold within them turn molten. 

She turned to the Prince.  “Disrobe.” She commanded. 

She soaked the rag again and brought it back to the Lion’s chest, this time working upward until she angled it around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.  His lips parted with a breathy sigh as he anticipated a kiss, but she denied him the pleasure, keeping her head torturously close as she took her free hand and traced it along the stubble across his jaw.  She let it hang there for a moment before she moved it to the ties of his pants, touching every inch of skin she could find on her way down.  She untied the knot with a practiced flick of her fingers, and the fabric clung loosely to his hips, exposing a deep V where his abs tapered off towards his manhood.  He took a quick step and the fabric fell, exposing thick thighs and shapely calves, as well as a massive cock amidst dark golden curls.

She tore her eyes away to meet his. “Will you consent to be my prize, my golden Lion?” she whispered. 

She moved away before he answered, and she loved the way his body leaned towards her retreating form, as though he were already aching to claim her.  She brought the still damp cloth with her, and moved around behind the Prince, wrapping her hands around him so she could trail moisture across his now bare hips.  His skin picked up the gleam from the fires and shimmered as the red light met bronze muscles, slicked with sweat and smelling of leather and steel.  He groaned softly at her touch, his head half turning to try and see her.  She pressed against him, feeling her nipples nestled tight between the leather of her top and his solid back, and she stood on her tiptoes to reach his ear.

“Will you consent to be my prize, my brave Prince?” she murmured, and she let out a breath as she slowly dragged her teeth across his earlobe.  She shifted the rag until her hands hovered just above his impressive length, allowing her fingers to toy with the chestnut curls of hair as he twitched in response.  She watched as his stomach flexed, his body tense with the need to turn and hold her.  She could tell how badly he wanted to kiss her from the way he licked his lips, tongue darting out over their pink curves as his chest rose and fell with barely controlled breaths.

She stopped abruptly, pulling away and leaving him, his eyes glazed over with desire.  She moved back around to face them both, tossing the rag back into the basin as she waited for their responses.  They looked at one another, faces flushed as they considered what she was truly asking.  When their eyes returned to her, she knew she had their answers before they even spoke.

“Yes.” They said together, and a ripple of wonder raced down her spine, thrilling her to her very bones. 

She moved forward and placed a hand on each, flat against stomachs that felt like fire against her skin.  She slowly traced her fingers downward until she could wrap them around the hardening cocks, biting her lip as she felt the softness of their skin.  The Prince smirked lasciviously as she took in the size of his growing erection, his arrogance stirring her lust so that she lightly drew her fingernails across the tip. He hissed in response, biting his lip as his hips thrust forward, driving himself into her hand, and she smirked at him before turning her eyes to the Lion.  She swirled her thumb from the base to the head of his cock, and he threw his head back and growled when she gave him a rough squeeze.  She leaned forward, pulling the Lion into her until their lips crashed together, her tongue moving across the enticing scar on his upper lip.  He moaned and melted into her, his lips telling her stories of hedonism too long denied, and she found she was only too happy to become his indulgence. 

She released them and turned, her palms missing the warmth of their skin already, before making her way to her overly large bed, which was covered in silk pillows and furs.  She backed to the edge and slowly eased her way into the middle, never releasing them from her gaze.

She reached behind herself, arching her back so she could access the leather tie to her top, and pulled it lose before she spoke.  “To the victors go the spoils.” She said, and her breasts tumbled free as the words spilled form her lips. 

The fire in their eyes burned brighter than molten metal, searing across her exposed skin as they stood completely bared before her.  She waited, patiently, allowing them to soak it in, allowing them that moment of delicious anticipation before they devoted themselves to her pleasure.  It was a charged moment, a flickering second of time that had them all hovering on the brink of madness, waiting and needing and wanting, and knowing that all of the base and carnal fantasies flitting through their heads were nothing more than a few steps away, spread across the bed like a feast offered up to the starving.  

The Prince moved first, and climbed onto the bed beside her.  He cupped her face in his palm before he leaned in and kissed her, his tongue coaxing her lips apart so that he could taste her completely.  She moaned at the touch of his mouth on hers, at the way he tasted of wine and battle, at the way his arrogance lent itself to experience that left her breathless and dizzy.   

She gasped and kissed him more fervently, losing herself in the moment, when the Lion pushed aside the red silk between her thighs and began to lick at her slicked folds within, his firm and flattened tongue singing praises to her with every movement.  Her hips bucked against his face as he took her center into his mouth and sucked at the sensitive pearl with purpose.  She moaned into the Prince’s mouth as the Lion worked her over, and she felt herself spinning into endless waves of bliss, free falling into awe and wonder as her body responded to their skill.

She grasped The Prince’s deliciously large cock and began to stroke it, flicking her wrist with every pull.  He groaned and let his hands roam over her silk-clad body.  He brushed the last of the leather cords from her breasts and pinched her hard nipples firmly enough to make her mewl.  She whimpered, digging her other hand into the Lion’s curly mane, bucking her hips with a wanton need that consumed her.  She wrapped a leg over The Lion’s neck as he thrust his thick fingers in and out of her core, his tongue never faltering while he hungrily lapped up her pleasure.

The Prince left her lips and trailed bites down her throat, nipping a little path of marks all the way to her breasts.  He took a pert nipple into his mouth and rolled his tongue over her pebbled flesh before pinching gently with his teeth.  She felt the tension in her belly begin to uncoil and searing heat rise to her chest.  She pulled The Lion’s face closer into her, her fingers fisting in his hair, and he moaned loudly while she fucked his mouth with wild abandon.  She arched her back and stroked The Prince’s cock faster, squeezing it harder each time her hand moved up to his tip.  She could feel the Prince’s breath dancing across her breasts, filled with warmth and ragged with need, and she closed her eyes and focused on the sensations, focused on the buildup of immeasurable tension within her.

All breath escaped her as she was sent over the edge, screaming in ecstasy as she came harder than she ever thought possible.  She was separated from time, lost in the depths of her aching body, unmoored from the boundaries of flesh as she ascended to new heights of pleasure.  Her muscles shook as stars exploded behind her eyes, the cry dying on her lips as she drew in a hungry breath for her air starved lungs. 

It took her a moment as she rode out the last of the climax, the man between her legs still providing gentle attention, but finally she gathered her strength and in one swift move she lifted her upper body up to roll the Prince onto his back as she swung her leg over The Lion’s head, using her momentum to flip herself onto The Prince, her hips hovering just over his.

She turned her head and made eye contact with the Lion, and used her hand to crook a finger at him, curling it into an unmistakable invitation.  He rose to stand next to the bed, his impossibly hard and generous cock aching for release, pulsing with need that had her mouth watering.  She grasped him gently and with a long lick to the underside of his shaft, she took him into her mouth just as she lowered herself onto the Prince’s impeccable form, sheathing him within her.

The Lion closed his eyes, a low growl rumbling through his chest as she sucked and stroked him, tasting the salt of his skin with the sweetness of his arousal.  She moaned as The Prince grasped her hips tightly and rocked her back and forth, increasing her rhythm and allowing her to focus on the motion of her tongue.  He hissed when he began lifting her up and driving her back down along his solid length, and she felt detonations of ecstasy deep within herself, sending swirling clouds of blind rapture through her head and muddling all coherent thought.

She could feel their tension building, the muscles flexing as they barely controlled themselves, and she smiled to herself, because she wasn’t finished with them yet.  She let go of The Lion’s cock and lifted herself off of The Prince’s, the men’s eyes flying open as they whined piteously, begging her with their gazes for relief.  She took a moment to bask in the desperation of their blown pupils, in the way their lids hung heavy as they blinked away their frustration.  She owned them, in this moment.  They were hers, at her mercy, and the heady rush of empowerment was almost enough to send her over the edge once more.  She smirked, watching their lips twitch in response, and as she stared at their magnificent forms through the haze of desire, she knew this would not be the last time she took them to her bed. 

She guided The Prince to move himself backward toward the middle of the bed while she stood in front of The Lion.  Once The Prince was within her reach, she climbed onto her hands and knees between his legs, exposing herself to the eager Lion behind her.  She dipped her head down and took the Prince in her mouth, tasting her own arousal mixed with his, and she lapped at the sticky wonder greedily.

The Lion needed no invitation to know what was expected of him, and he moaned loudly as he thrust himself deeply into her, digging his fingers into her hips and pounding her mercilessly as she sucked and stroked The Prince’s cock.  The Prince threw back his head and bucked his hips as she swallowed his length, demanding of herself that her mouth take all of him, needing to feel herself wrapped completely around them both.  He fisted her hair and watched as she bobbed on his spit-slicked hardness until he could keep his eyes open any more, moaning in helplessness as she steadily pushed him to his breaking point.

Her moans were increasing in pitch as she felt her own body tipping closer to the edge.  For a moment that was perhaps the best moment of her life so far, they all seemed to become one being, embroiled in a mess of euphoria that had them beating with one heart, breathing with one breath, and feeling with one mind as all of their nerves sang in accord.  Then they tumbled into the abyss together, the Lion filling her with his seed and roaring as the Prince exploded in her mouth, forcing her to swallow her screams along with his release.  Slowly their hips all came to stuttered halts, the last of the waves of orgasm crashing over their quaking bodies, rendering them shaky and speechless.

They collapsed onto the bed, boneless and breathless, a tangle of limbs still tingling with afterglow.  Hawke snuggled between the two of them and kissed each on the cheek.  The Prince kissed the crown of her head while the Lion kissed her on her shoulder.  The tender gesture sent an easy warmth spreading from the top of her head all the way to the tip of her toes, and she smiled and took comfort in the closeness of her newest lovers.    

She reached to the nightstand and rang a small silver bell.  A servant entered and stood in the center of the room, eyes averted out of respect for his mistress.

“Wine.” she ordered.

The servant refilled the goblets and brought them to the bed, serving them before turning on his heel and leaving.

Hawke raised her cup.  “To the first night of many!” she purred with a devious smirk on her lips.

Her conquests didn’t hesitate, and raised their cups as well, replying in unison, “Hear! Hear!”

They drank, and they slept, and they dreamed of all the times they would do the same again. 


End file.
